Page 10 of Love at First Ink

At first, her words shocked him. How could a woman who looked like Marisol not feel confident and powerful? But he quickly disregarded that question because he knew the answer. Hell, helivedthe answer. Looks were deceiving. Hadn’t he been dealing with that his entire life?

To anyone who didn’t know him, he appeared like a tatted Latino man who matched the stereotypes people had of men who looked like him. He’d heard it all before. Illegal immigrant. Cartel member. Uneducated. Player. Thief. The list went on and on.

It was these stereotypes that nearly ruined his entire life.

People saw what they wanted to see and nothing else. They wouldn’t see that he graduated from an Ivy League school with a master’s in business. Or that he opened and managed two tattoo shops with a third on the way, despite the wrench that someone tried to throw in his plans. People didn’t see that because they would have to face their own prejudices, and no one wanted to tackle their internal racism.

“I think it’s a great choice,” he said after a moment. For the first time, he saw Marisol smile. It made her look younger, offering a fleeting glimpse of her true self before disappearing in an instant. He had a feeling Marisol didn’t smile often.

They settled into a comfortable silence, letting the raspy vocals of The Sinner’s Web fill the space. He hummed along to one of their new singles, nodding in time with the beat. When he glanced at Marisol again, he was surprised to see her tapping her fingers to the rhythm and quietly mouthing the lyrics.

“You know The Sinner’s Web?” he asked, grinning.

Marisol’s cheeks reddened. It was fucking adorable. “I know some songs, yeah.”

“They’re badass. Have you listened to their new album? I got the record last week, and it’s been in the player nonstop at my house.”

“You have a record player?” Marisol perked up.

“Yeah, right over there.” He gestured to the black dresser with a brown box record player resting on top.

“Wow, I’ve always wanted to see one of those. They released a record? I’ve listened to the entire discography three times from start to finish. I think I like it better than their EP.” When Marisol spoke of their music, her entire demeanor changed. She transformed into a music geek, gushing over her favorite songs. It was such a switch from the closed-off, somber persona shedonned earlier.

“Their EP was great; it definitely got me invested in their music. But I think I agree with you. Their album just has a lot of soul,” Cisco said.

“And trauma,” Marisol said immediately. She paled when she realized the words that left her mouth. “I mean, it just feels like something that would resonate with people.”

And what could she resonate with? It wasn’t his place to ask, but he found himself wanting to know anyway. “Yeah, they sing about a lot of parental trauma.”

There was the slightest change in Marisol’s expression. Her face pinched as if she had just sucked on a sour lemon. Was this the trauma she was referring to? And the reason she needed to get this tattoo as a reminder of who she was or wanted to be? He knew he shouldn’t get involved, but he couldn’t get the message to his heart. That damn thing liked to take over, even when his brain told it to stop.

For the next hour and a half, their conversation revolved around The Sinner’s Web—their favorite songs, the lyrics that resonated the most, and how the band’s music seemed to be evolving. As the discussion flowed, they branched out to other artists with a similar sound, discovering even more common ground. Cisco was surprised by how closely their musical tastes aligned and how much knowledge Marisol possessed on independent artists.

Marisol even introduced him to a band he’d never heard of before. Intrigued, he immediately downloaded their album onto his phone, eager to explore their sound. When she mentioned her favorite song, he took a mental note, planning to listen to it later—preferably in a quiet moment when he could truly absorb the music and maybe, just maybe, understand Marisol a little better.

The bitter taste of disappointment churned his stomachwhen he finished up the last of the shading. Marisol’s tattoo was done, which meant she would be leaving soon. He didn’t know why that thought upset him, but he felt it all the same.

“Ready to check out your tattoo in the mirror?” Cisco put the tattoo gun down and pushed his stool back, so Marisol could get up.

He offered a hand to help her out of the chair, and Marisol took it. Her soft hand fit into his perfectly, and he pulled her to her feet, coming chest to chest with her. Marisol gave him a timid, almost shy smile. Reluctantly, he stepped aside so she could see the finished product in the mirror.

She walked with a slight limp, which was to be expected after a needle dug into her skin and she sat in the same position for a long period of time. She kept her shorts rolled up so she didn’t irritate her skin.

This was Cisco’s favorite part. The part where his client got to experience seeing their tattoo for the first time. Their excitement always filled him with pride for his work. He was fortunate enough to never have any dissatisfied customers. He took his time to get to know his clients. Their likes and interests. He listened to them when they spoke and tried to capture exactly what they pictured in their head.

Marisol’s situation was a little bit different since it was his design in the first place. He still took just as much care tattooing it as he would any other tattoo he did.

Marisol reached the mirror, never once meeting her gaze in it. Her focus was on her thigh, of the goddess Cisco created for her. A girlish squeal he didn’t peg her capable of left her lips, and her eyes glossed over.

“Cisco…” she said his name with such reverence that he wanted to bottle up that sound and listen to it again while he was alone in bed tonight.

“Cisco, this is beautiful.” She met his gaze in the mirror before turning around. “It’s perfect. It’s…wow. I can’t believe I did that.”

Cisco smirked. “Damn straight you did that. Fair warning, tattoos become addicting. Many people can’t stop after just one.”

She giggled. “Noted. Though I don’t have plans for more. If I do, you’re my man.”

You’re my man.

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